i can see the night's end already
and we just have downed our very first shot
i can even sketch out the plot
all the way through to a cab ride home

i can see the weeks of dating
months of romance, rough play, fading
till the barking of the strays
leave us no choice but to part ways

i can see the miles of highway
as we step off from the curb
in hope the engine's cough will not disturb
the peace of early sunday morning

i can see my fat old body
smoking the remains of my son's weed
trying, as a man can, not to bleed
from the stab-wounds of my marriage

the dead horse won't pull the carriage
leaving no trace of respect
and nothing, Nothing, but the fact
that she's no longer breathing